The Difference
by HelenVanPattersonPatton
Summary: "It's not the seismic shift she expected. Just the next, right step." How the first 24 hours of their new relationship shape Castle and Beckett. And what's to come. *Slight spoilers for season five in later chapters*
1. Chapter 1

The pads of her fingers ache. The accompaniment of pain from being slung like a rag doll off a Manhattan rooftop. There are no bruises yet. Just deep-pink smudges of skin. A set of streaks along her neck, knees and shins, shoulder blades, tail bone - she can't see that one but feels it more acutely than the others. They'll all turn; a rainbow of evidence painted on her flesh, but for now they remain merely a ghostly reminder of nearly losing her life.

Only she did lose that life.

And started another. With Castle.

She hopes he is still sleeping soundly where she left him. Doesn't want him to wake and wonder where she is. Doesn't want him to be lying in bed waiting for her and wondering why she's been in the shower so long that the water has turned cold and pushed her in the corner, sequestered and collecting herself, counting her bruises and giving thanks that she's still breathing. And yes, maybe brooding.

She's good. Better than. Kate could never have anticipated how this would actually feel. The two of them together. It's. . . everything. She just needs to lick her wounds in private, sort herself out. And she would prefer that he miss this.

It's enough to worry her that if he is awake, waiting, knowing what she's doing, that he would doubt her. He's doubted her enough.

Kate sticks her foot out, toes interrupting the stream of screaming cold water. Lets it wash away some of the latent resentment simmering in her veins, send goose bumps racing up her calf.

He didn't trust her not to throw her life away.

She's going to prove that he can.

* * *

It's been exactly forty-eight minutes since Kate turned on the shower. The thunder of water, even through the closed door, was enough to bring him back. He reached for her.

Forty-eight minutes.

Forty-nine now.

Every minute after the first thirty spread evil little fingers of doubt through him, whispers insidious lies in his ears.

At minute fifty he has to leave the room. He staggers into sweat pants before changing his mind. If Kate's going to leave his bed, him, in the middle of the night after the world's longest shower, he should be wearing proper pants. There's no coming back from having your heart ripped out by the woman you love while wearing sweat pants. Or worse, naked.

Castle's in jeans and a t-shirt and through the door by minute fifty-two.

He has no idea where to go, moves awkwardly through his space. First the study. Then the chair by the piano. He ends up on a kitchen bar-stool, drink in hand. Orange juice. He wanted Scotch. Wanted to dull himself just a little so that when the moment comes that Kate closes the door behind herself, running full-bore into her own grave, it won't smart as bad. Scotch seems too predestined though, clichéd, so orange juice instead then.

The whole point of sitting in the kitchen and not the den or his study is so that he can't hear. Yet he strains to divine any noise whatsoever that might alert him to her shutting the water off. Nothing.

The digital display on the microwave mocks him. He turns away from the numbers. Tries to stop counting.

In the complete silence he swears he can hear the latch of the bathroom door click open.

Seconds later the smell of soap, his soap, woodsy, still kinda girly, and indulgently expensive, spreads through the loft all the way to his airspace.

Any panic sitting in his gut is momentarily superseded by the sudden possessive lust that settles there. Kate Beckett is naked in his bedroom and smells like his soap. It makes him want to get to her before she's had the chance to dry-off, to lick up beads of moisture as the slide down her body, not for the first time tonight.

But what is it that she wants? Him?

Castle sighs, throws back the last of the juice, slams the glass down perhaps a bit more dramatic than is called for. He needs to get his shit together. Stop second guessing everything.

* * *

A shiver turns into a shudder that won't stop, threatening to break her apart. Kate stretches around the spray, her hip popping, and flicks the water off. Her fingers tremble, unsteady, as she steps out of the shower and wraps the terrycloth around her shoulders, rubs up and down her arms, willing warmth.

The day suddenly weighs in her bone, hard and brittle. The edges of her control chipped away. She isn't sound, could so easily fracture completely. She shuffles to the toilet and sinks down on the closed lid; needs to sit for a moment, rest. Yeah, she needs rest. Should eat something and sleep. A shaky hollowness is roaring to life in her stomach. Kate can't remember the last time she ate anything. It might have been longer than a day.

She'll find something in the kitchen; she knows. These Castle's always have food. Weird. She'll make them both a snack and then wake Castle up. Hm, yeah, she's got ideas how to wake him up. She can see the delighted shock on his face now. The thought makes her smile, gives her some sparkling incentive.

Kate stands, holds herself still and steady for a moment, then squeezes the excess water from the ends of her hair, slips the towel down and secures it with a twist under her arms and opens the door.

Castle's gone.

Damn. So much for him missing her brooding.

Thin, dry air in the bedroom licks cold against her skin. Her clothes are still wet in a pile at the foot of the bed. Kate takes Castle's dark burgundy dress shirt off the chair, the one that he was wearing earlier, the one she took off of him. It's not particularly warm but it's dry and better than nothing, and she has no intention of going through his closet. Kate shakes it on, wincing when she raises her arms over her head, makes a mental note to take some Ibuprofen, after she has some food in her stomach. She leaves the towel on, taking whatever warmth she can get.

She finds him in the kitchen; shoulders hunched over the bar. He hears her come in, must hear her, because his spine straightens and head turns to her sound, but not far enough around to look at her. Straight and guarded.

So he's been up for a while then.

Well, she should say something that will help him understand, shouldn't she? Some kind of verbal reassurance. Because apparently her presence isn't enough. Maybe it's not.

But she's too hungry to sooth him, riding a fine edge of shaky turning sick. Surely rooting around in his crisper drawer wearing his shirt and very little else will be enough until she can stroke him with assurances that she isn't leaving.

She doesn't even bother throwing a look his way until she shuts the fridge, cold apple (she's hates cold apples, hurt her teeth, needs to remember to set one on the counter for tomorrow) and some kind of gooey French cheese in hand.

The look on his face is not the accompaniment of his posture. It's a marriage of surprised and leering. When his eyes flick down to her chest and back up she realizes just how far down the towel slipped when she bent over. Barely does it even cling to the rise of her breasts. The shirt gapes open at her sides.

Castle raises a brow, tries to affect predatory coolness but fails completely when she sees the nervous bob of his throat on a swallow.

Oh. Okay then. She's feeling much warmer all the sudden, the shakiness all but forgotten with the rush of his eyes on her. Why not?

Kate straightens, hands still full, sticks out a knee to catch on the towel, wiggles her torso just enough to loosen the tenuous bind of the cloth.

With a damp thud the bath towel pools on the hardwood around her feet.

He gasps. Castle actually gasps, when it falls.

"Hungry, Castle?"

He takes his time, drags his eyes over every inch of her not nestled in the shadows of his shirt. Feasts blatantly on her bare flesh.

"Mm, yes," he growls low, and it almost makes her forget that she meant to tease him.

"Where do you keep the crackers?"

"What?"

Kate can't help the smirk, the jolt of sexy aggressive power that floods her. The same feeling she's always gotten when she teases and he stutters, only so much stronger now that she knows clearly just how she affects him. She can feel it still swimming in her blood. But she's hungry and the teasing and arousal will just have to wait a few more minutes.

She sets the fruit and cheese on the counter, his eyes still on her body, and starting from the bottom up slowly fastens the buttons.

"Uh, no, Beckett. No buttons. Off."

"Food, Castle." He shakes his head petulantly, gaze wandering all the while. "That later. Soon. Food first."

His eyes widen slightly at the easy promise of "soon," but it doesn't deter him. He slides off the stool and comes for her. With every step closer Kate can feel her resolve crumbling to ash, can feel acutely the heat of his gaze, the sense-memory of his hands on her. She can't look at him or it's all over. Just barely does she slip away from his touch, his fingers grasping at the tail of her shirt before she can get away.

Kate flees to the pantry. Hides the flush of desire that burns vivid in her cheeks. Tries to tamp it down, get her wildly beating heart under control and not let him see. It is ridiculous, really. Hiding it. He gets her. Castle gets to her. There is no need to hide it now. Not when mere hours ago she was unabashedly breaking apart into a million pieces beneath him, because of him, his name the breath on her lips. No more need to hide how very much she wants him. She's not sure how well she was doing with that anyway.

She grabs for the first box of crackers she sees, table-water crackers, not her favorite, but goes with them anyway. Kate doesn't care what it is; can think of nothing but stuffing as little food and liquid down her throat as will sustain her so they can get back to other things.

Castle is grinning at her when she closes the pantry door. So smug, isn't he? So suddenly confidant.

It unnerves her. And damn it, she has to touch him, just for a minute, even at the risk of not being able to stop.

She tosses the box on the counter and steps into him. He doesn't move to touch her, his grin softening into a smile as he studies her face. He waits for her patiently, enjoying her reaching for him, watching her.

Kate wants to touch his skin, have his warmth seep into her bones, but if she kisses him - No. If she kisses him she won't stop. Instead she snakes her fingers up under the sleeves of his t-shirt. It's just as surprising to her now as it was the first time how thick his arms are. Solid under her fingers and so that her hands span less than half way around.

How inviting that hollow of skin and jut of bone looks right at the top of the v in his shirt. Kate lists forward until she can nudge that soft little spot with her nose.

Castle's hands skirt up to rest on the ridge of her hipbone but he doesn't pull her closer, just holds her there steady.

Her lips, those traitorous things, seek out and brush his skin. He swallows hard against her.

"Kate."

The low vibration of her name against her mouth propels her along, teeth grazing at his jaw, even as his hands are drawing her away.

The pads of his thumbs spin circles in her sides in an effort to sooth but ultimately failing. A swirling reminder of all the places he is touching her. He stops and she breathes past this clingy, blooming need. Kate scrapes her eyes open, doesn't remember closing them, gritty and sleep-deprived.

Castle is watching her intently. Too much understanding and concern in his eyes. And he doesn't even know the half of it.

"Kate?"

She lets go of him and takes a half step back; sags with the sudden flash of memory. The desperation as her obsession sucked her down, head barely above it, gasping for air. Castle's face twisted in pain with eyes brimmed with tears. That brutal goddamn stab of betrayal. Teetering on the gaping mouth of death - again. Handing in her badge.

Oh God. She quit her job.

Kate sways.

The hands on her waist tense and it's enough to steady her.

It's all going to be okay. They're going to be okay. Just as long as they're in this together.

And as long as she doesn't pass out.

"Feed me," she says.

Castle laughs relief and it washes the memories out of her head again. It leaves nothing but tired joy and hunger in her.

* * *

He keeps a fish-eye on her once deposited on a stool. She sits propped, cheek in palm, elbow slanted across the counter-top, eyes drooped, fluttering, then drifting closed.

Castle goes about spreading Camembert on crackers soon filling up a plate. Kate cants more to her side, slipping across the counter, and he's sure that she will fall in the floor any moment.

He pours a glass of water and walks around the bar to hand it to her. Tries not to be blatantly obvious when he nudges her shoulder in an attempt to right her again.

Kate drinks it slowly but in one fluid motion and hands him the empty glass before he can get back to slicing the apple. He refills it and sets it on the counter in front of her and gets an unconscious, lopsided smile in return. Watery. Exhausted and so un-Kate-like.

_I almost died. And all I could think about was you._

God, he doesn't even know what happened, does he? How? How did Kate nearly die this time? He needs to know everything. Even if it leads to an argument. Even if it leads to one of them storming out. He wants to wake her up, press from her all the details about the day he missed.

_He got away and I didn't care._

Got away.

Kate may say she doesn't care, but she can't mean it. The man responsible for putting a bullet through her chest got away. And he's still out there somewhere. She should care.

The realization sinks like a stone in his gut. God, he's still out there.

No, this isn't over, but Kate is alive and here. With him.

Castle drops the paring knife in the sink, in a hurry, needing to get to her, needing to wrap himself around her to feel her heart beating. The blade clatters against the stainless steel. It startles a nodding off Kate, eyes flying open, surprise and panic both.

He is by her side and arms around her before she can exhale a ragged breath, shaking.

"What is it?" she asks, her hands cradling him to her gently.

Oh. It is he who is shaking.

"Just -" Kate is present but unsteady in his arms. This is SO not the right time for this. "Shaky all the sudden. I need you to prop me up."

He gets a puff of air at his neck that feels reassuringly like a laugh and pulls away to get a look at her face.

Eyes so serious, a thunder storm gathered behind dark lashes. So much for hiding it from her. Every ounce of fear and uncertainty thrumming in his system is shining right back at him through her gaze.

Castle runs his hands up her back until he can cradle her head, fingers catching and tangling in her still wet hair. He can keep her safe. Smith - Smith will do what he promised. What he's done for the last year. Smith will keep her safe. He won't let them get to her.

Castle brushes his lips across hers, closed and soft and oh, so sweet. A prayer in the burnishment of her lips.

"There's time, Castle," she whispers against his lips. "We'll talk. We have time." With that she slips away.

Kate takes the plate of snacks in her hands, walks toward the sofa, then stops. She turns to him with a look too sleepy to pull off mischievous, but close.

"Can we eat in bed?"

Mm, yeah, "Kate, we can do whatever you want to in bed."

There it is - those clouds and sleepy haze burn away - bright shining mischief sparks in her eyes. "Oh, I'm holding you to that, Castle."


	2. Chapter 2

Kate wakes with his fingers around her neck, squeezing the life out of her body, stars bursting behind her eyes.

Only -

It's the imprint of Maddox's hands on her. Only the memory suffocating her. Pain throbs under the wounded skin of her neck every time her heart beats. Every off-rhythm pump of her chest hurts. And it's not real, but Kate still can't seem to breathe around it.

She shimmies up in the bed; thankful Castle is sprawled face-down in his own space away from her, rests her bare back against the soft padding of the headboard.

She pulls her knees up, bringing the sheet with them, until she can lean her chin down to rest there; tries breathing through the pain and atrophy in her limbs.

Grey, early-morning light seeps through the blinds. The sun hasn't come up yet, just night lightening bit by bit, casting illusions in the sky and dark strips of shadows in the room.

It is so quiet. Too late for post-bar traffic, too early for the morning bustle. No hint of street noise comes through the double-paned windows. There is only the sound of her jagged breathing and the soft, steady puff of Castle not quite snoring.

Kate tries to match it, parrots the slow cadence of his every breath.

One minute, two minutes, five.

It helps. It eases her pounding heart.

Okay. It's going to be okay. She wiggles and shifts more of her weight to her right side, tries easing some of the pressure off her left. She may have a couple bruised ribs. Ryan gently suggested she get checked out. No reason to, though. Kate knows what the doctors would say. Get lots of rest. Try to avoid any strenuous activity. They'd give her a prescription for pain pills she would never take. No. No need to go to the doctor. Crap. She's going to need to get insurance now that she's not a government employee. She'll have to start looking into that soon. How long will she have before she's no longer covered? She did quit. Yeah, so now. Maybe, she should do that now.

There is so much to do and Kate doesn't even begin to know where to start. Is it hiding from her problems to pull the covers over her head and not leave Castle's bed for a month?

Nothing can be done about any of it now. Not in the near-dawn darkness. But it helps sifting through it in her head; making a list. She catalogs everything she knows that has tangled in a knotted mess from the last two days. Details about work - ah - right. No longer her work. That should be near the top of the list.

She - well, she doesn't know what she is going to do. It's been everything for so long. How does she truly let that go? She has savings, can afford to take the time to try on new identities. That word suddenly takes on a newly terrifying meaning. Identity. If she's not Detective Beckett then who the hell is she? It seems far too late in the game of life to start playing with its existential meaning.

No. She knows who she is. Just needs to find her new place in this world.

Uncertainty coils in her stomach, dauntless, and she should move past it, for now. She needs - she's going to need help with this. Will need to fight the instinct to do it all on her own. She should call and set up an appointment with Dr. Burke. Hm. She's assuming she can still see him even though he's one of the NYPD shrinks. Wonder how much that will cost per session without insurance? Whatever it is will be worth every penny. Still. . . She needs to start thinking about these things. Maybe write out a budget.

Money, yeah. She'll sort that out. Next on the list -

Maddox got away.

And that's not okay. No good having a stone-cold killer walking the streets. But she can't be the one to stop him. Trying to is enough to get her killed. She's outmatched. Someone else will get him.

She really does want to believe that.

And it's okay; it is, only - Kate needs to find out what Castle knows.

That is a conversation she is not looking forward to. She needs to know everything. How safe is she really? Kate doesn't want to give into the gut instinct, the one niggling in her since Maddox left her dangling there with a nonchalant threat on his lips. Since the moment Ryan pulled her from the roof and she knew she'd survive one more day. They're coming for her.

_Don't think about that now, Kate._

But she should be thinking about it now. If she's right - she doesn't want to think about what it means if she's right. About how much time she might have.

She should call her father. Just in case.

She needs to call Ryan.

The to-do list of life and death is getting jumbled. The weight of it dulling her down, clouding her already muddled brain. And this is just the tip of it. There's -

Castle.

Wow.

The wave of it, beautiful realization, knocks her away. She should tell him. He needs to hear it from her. No matter what, she's in this with him.

It stings her eyes; and it's not tears, just an overwhelming flood rising from some well-guarded place inside her.

Those not-really-tears fall hot and fat down her cheeks and she brushes them into the sheet covering her knee, rests her cheek there.

It feels good. A modicum of relief rushing over her.

Nothing is fixed. Her life is a mess, but God, she feels happy.

She has him.

* * *

His limbs are too heavy when he tries to move them; all warm and weighty, muscles loose and stretched out. It's enough to make him reconsider. No need to mess with a good thing. He'll stay right here.

Ugh. The drapes are open. Castle doesn't have to open his eyes to see that. Hot, yellow morning sunlight bleeds through his eyelids. This will not do. He shoves a hand out grasping for a spare pillow to throw over his face and finds a foot instead.

That gets his eyes open. The light is harsh and he has to blink hard against it, his eyes gritty with sleep. It stings brightly. He closes them, gives it a second, and then tries again. Focus.

Kate.

Kate swathed in a sheet from the waist down, bare back bowed against the headboard, arms hugging her knees to her chest, head cocked painfully looking, mashed against a kneecap. An upright fetal position. God, it looks uncomfortable. And pitiful.

He jiggles her foot.

Her head falls off her knee then jerks up, eyes too wide. That unsure jolt like when you dose off on mass transit and then startle brutally awake.

Kate cracks her jaw open wide, and he can see the pain race through her features. She rolls her shoulders back pressing them in a straight line along the headboard, slowly pushes her legs out flat.

"Ow," she slurs.

He props on his elbow, twists so he can get a better view of her. Kate, a very sore, very naked Kate, first thing in the morning? It's uncharted. It warrants attention to every little detail.

"How long you been asleep like that?"

"Um," she slowly turns her head to the clock or window one, "few hours."

"No wonder you're sore."

"Not just that." Kate turns back toward him, eyes slowly roaming the expanse of sheets, wandering, before landing on him, her gaze soft.

Oh.

Well there's that too.

There should be a better word for this feeling. One that means pride and love and smug and satisfied all at once. If Kate remains a fixture in his bed he will be forced to create it. He will create an entirely new lexicon for her

"Did I wear you out?" He sneaks a hand around her wrist, her skin cool against the heat of his palm, tries not to sound like the smug bastard he feels.

"Did you? - oh, no."

No?

Kate tilts her head forward, as close to shaking it, no, as her stiff muscles apparently allow her to move, an unruly sheet of curled hair slanting across her face.

She licks her lips, dry and bruised pink. Still she looks at him all soft and steady, but there's something else. And damn, it looks like regret.

Oh, there are surely a thousand words for this feeling. All of them bad.

"That too, Castle," she says, the words as rough as sandpaper. Kate brings her hand up, bringing his with it, and places wet lips on the tender skin of his wrist before dropping them to the mattress again, their fingers tangled and resting together. It's a gesture meant to be sweet and reassuring, he assumes. It isn't. It succeeds only in making him want to crush her to him and never let go.

It must show.

Kate swipes her thumb up the thick flesh of his palm.

"The fight," she says. Leaves it there, lets the words soak in a moment. "Just a little sore. Bruised."

Fight. Right. Almost died.

Shit.

"Kate - "

"I'm okay. I'm here."

Her gaze, so strong, fierce, is willing him to let it ride. Yeah, she's okay. For now, she's okay.

"We have to talk about this, Kate. Need to do better." She opens her mouth to speak but he cuts her off. "Need to, just not this moment. We need coffee first."

"God, yes. You're so smart," Kate breathes out, full of genuine relief.

He can't help the smile that sneaks at the corners of his mouth. "I'm going to remind you you said that."

She presses her lips together, eyes sparkling, and says nothing.

Castle slides out from under the covers, immediately missing the warmth and proximity to naked Kate. A quick scan of the floor (he really needs to pick up, maybe do some laundry) and he finds his boxers tucked under his crumpled jeans. He tugs them on even while walking toward the closet; pulls his fluffy, navy-blue robe off the hook just inside the door. He turns as he slides it on, catches the intense flare of Kate's eyes.

"Kate Beckett. You looked," he gasps.

She tries on wide-eyed innocence and fails miserably. He clutches the lapels of the robe closer together, effects as much mock modest indignation as he can.

Her brows knit together before she sticks a thumbnail between her teeth. Predatory. It tingles down to his toes.

"Still lookin', Castle."

Uh - she wins.

He loosens his grip and slips the fabric off his shoulder, exposing half his chest down to his waist.

Kate's eyebrows shoot up, and her mouth falls slightly open. It takes every bit of restraint not to pounce on her, or at the very least smile.

He saunters (saunters - his mother would be so proud) to the door, then throws over his shoulder. "You better not be using me for my body. I'm not a piece of meat, you know."

Kate's laughter propels him all the way to the kitchen.

Hm, they both win.


	3. Chapter 3

Bless him. He brings her a glass of water and Ibuprofen, which she takes gratefully, followed by a cup of molten-hot coffee. It burns her tongue, but she gulps a mouthful anyway; vanilla hot and sweet cauterizing its way down her throat, searing away any remnants of sleep.

The flavor rolls on her tongue, rich and delicious and familiar: just like him. It tastes like all the mornings they have spent together. It's his own blend, concocted especially for her. Even though he's never told her this, she knows it's true. Kate can taste the difference between the cups purchased on the fly from a shop or made by him at the precinct; and from the ones she's forced to make on her own - the ones made with the non-dairy crap she keeps because it never seems to go bad.

"I know this isn't some store-bought creamer, Castle. Now fess up, what do you do to this?"

Castle tucks a leg under him, knee boring into the mattress, and situates himself so he's turned towards her, his own coffee cup cradled in his hands. "No way. If I tell you all my secrets what's to keep you from making it yourself? Then you won't need me around anymore."

Yeah, because that's why she keeps him around.

"Have you seen me trying to work the espresso machine in the break-room?" she scoffs. "Your job is not in peril."

"Beckett, it's been four years," he gapes at her. "How can you still don't know how to work that machine?"

"It's not that I _can't_, but the little lip on the side of the thing that you turn always gets hung up on the base when I try and open it, and -" He's smirking at her and she pops the back of her hand against his chest in retribution. "No, you're right. I totally only keep you around because of your coffee making prowess," she smirks back.

He brings his free hand up to close around her fingers, her knuckles brushing his sternum through the worn, cotton undershirt he put on under his robe.

"Okay, yes. It is a - special blend. You like it?" His speaks low, but his eyes hold a little too much pride, barely restrained hope bouncing in the air around him. She SO wants to mess with him a little, but damn it, he's adorable. Adorable and happy. And it's infectious.

"I do," she says, smiling a curious smile at him she couldn't hold at bay if she wanted to. "What is it?" She cradles the cup the same way he is; thumb slipped through the handle, fingers splayed wide, pinky hooked on the rough edge of the unglazed base, and peers down into the caramel colored brew. The porcelain is hot under her fingers, almost too hot to grip. He used real coffee mugs instead of their usual plastic travel cups. Strange that she would even think about it - of course he would use real mugs - but it feels good, the ceramic in her hand solid. Permanent. They're not going anywhere. No need to travel.

"Little bit of cream - real cream, Beckett, none of that fat-free junk - raw sugar, splash of vanilla extract, a dash of cinnamon."

"Cinnamon?" He nods while she takes another measured sip, tries to find it in there, a hint of bitter-earthy spice. There it is, right on the back of her palette then gone.

"It's perfect, Castle."

He leans forward suddenly, eyes wide with urgency, hand brushing the hair away from her cheek, and presses his smile against hers. It's an awkward angle, her lashes feathering the ridge of his eye. And she laughs, but oh, then his teeth scrape ever so light across her bottom lip, and it's not funny. Smiles melt under the heat of it, lips liquid and pouring together. Her heart pounds heavy with it. He tilts her head with the hand that has wandered into her hair and touches his tongue, light and quick, to her lip before sucking it into his mouth.

Oh, that's – mm. It's good.

Kate sighs into his mouth and feels it tingle, racing like a ripple across him.

Castle's fingers stroke her neck, gentle enough that she can hide the twinge of pain at her damaged skin. He drops a kiss there in the wake of his hand, soft on the sensitive plane, before ghosting a kiss on her lips, then pulling away.

His eyes, so darkly blue, are heavy with astonishment. Like he can't believe she is really here. It makes her want to promise him anything at all, everything.

"It is perfect," he says, voice gruff.

And he means the coffee he drank from her lips. Only he doesn't; he means them, and he's right. They are perfect.

"Mm, yeah." She's breathless and it's audible. Instinct makes her want to hide it from him. Only this is its own promise. He takes her breath away and she'll let him see it. Kate runs long fingers through the flop of hair resting on his forehead, lets her gaze travel the entirety of his face, and makes sure that he sees it. Every promise she is making, every word she cannot say.

He swallows hard and stutters a breath, and they have to move on from this or she is going to cry or do something else equally stupid - like proposing. Christ almighty.

"What's in yours?" She gestures to his mug and takes another swallow of her own special blend, prays the hot liquid will wash away some truly asinine words from her cropping up in her throat.

"Hm, you tell me."

"Don't think I got enough of a taste," she murmurs. He barks a surprised laugh and she tries not to be disappointed that he doesn't kiss her again.

"Well, you have other skills. You're a detective. Detect."

Oh.

Shit that hurts.

She didn't think it was going to. It was her decision. Only -

God, it _hurts_.

"Kate?" Right. She's been quiet a little too long, can feel the pinch in her face he must see.

"I quit."

"I'm sorry?" He laughs. Yeah, no joke. Not funny.

"I quit my job. Handed in my badge yesterday."

Castle scrapes a hand down his face and sit up fully, legs crossed, in the middle of the bed.

"You quit the 12th. Just like that." It's a question but, fuck, if it sounds more like an accusation.

"I thought you'd be happy about this. It's over."

"Wait, Kate," he shakes his head and draws in a deep breath, "I didn't say I was unhappy. But this isn't about me. What happened?"

What happened?

"I - " She needs to start at the beginning but doesn't really know where that is. Kate takes a moment, shifts so that she's sitting more alert too, mimicking his posture, shoulder pressed into the headboard. She pulls the sheet higher up her chest. "I lost control."

"Then we'll get it back. We'll talk to Gates. Or I can in call - someone. Call in a favor." Yeah, certainly not Weldon. Not Montgomery. They're losing, or have lost, their advocates. Her chest aches.

"No, not like that. I - I don't know if I want my job back." Kate takes a deep breath. Cards on the table time. "I lost control of the case, and myself. It nearly got me killed and could've done the same to Esposito."

He listens carefully, shoulders full of tension but waiting on her to tell the story. Always so patient with her. She loves him for it, and it's so fucking irritating because she seldom deserves his patience when it counts.

"God, Castle, I was so stupid. I completely lost it. How else - how else could I have let you walk out?" Kate has to work words out around the lump that forms because of them in her throat.

"Kate -" He takes her hand but she pulls away, has to. This isn't where she meant to go.

"No. The story first. Let me tell you what happened." He smiles weakly at that. The story first, always. "Espo and I tracked down the guy. The - the sniper who shot me, Cole Maddox; found his hotel room. We were completely rogue. Made Ryan cover for us. Maddox was there and got the drop on us. He knocked out Espo, and I chased him to the roof. We - fought."

"He almost killed you." Sparks of fear-fueled anger light in his eyes.

"Yes. I - he was so much stronger than me. He tossed me off him and I rolled - I rolled off the roof and was hanging."

"And he just left you there?" His hands are shaking and, blessedly, surprisingly, hers are not.

"He did. Taunted me then left me there. I still don't know why. . ." Not why he didn't help. Why didn't he push her the rest of the way?

"Kate? What happened then?"

You saved me.

Oh, she can't tell him that. Because of his guilt or her own, she can't tell him it was his voice she heard, his name she screamed.

"Ryan. Ryan told Gates what we were doing and backed us up. Ryan pulled me from the edge. Saved my life." She'll never be able to repay him.

"I'm buying him a car." It should sound like a joke, but it has no levity, his voice strangled.

"Buy one for Esposito too, while you're at it." She gets a smile out of him for that.

He tries to take her hand again and this time she lets him.

"Then?"

"Gates, after an impressive dressing down, suspended Esposito and me."

He waits. Doesn't ask what happened next, just waits for her to find the right words. They're inelegant but the best she can do.

"I didn't want to do it anymore, Castle."

"The job?"

"No. The job is good. I like the work. Love it."

He runs a finger up the edge of her hand, soothing, and like he doesn't know he's doing it. It suddenly feels weird to be here, in this moment with him, naked save for a sheet, morning sunlight pouring around them. Like a parallel universe where she makes stupidly brave decisions that actually lead to happiness and things being easier instead of more heartbreaking. It makes her want to open herself to him completely.

"I love the work, and most of the time it's good; I'm good. But then those other times I just can't handle myself with it. You know, Castle. You've seen it. Yesterday I realized I can't trust myself. My judgment. It's like addiction. And I don't want to keep doing the same things, making the same mistakes, over and over again." Kate struggles to catch her breath. "I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want to die. God, Castle, I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you too."

"You don't have to quit your job to keep me." His voice is thick with the threat of tears. It hurts all over again to remember how she knows exactly what that sounds like.

"I know that." And she does. Didn't really mean for one thing to predicate the other. "I didn't do it for you. I did it for me. I want to be free finally. I want to be happy."

"I want that for you too, Kate."

That's why she's here. She's never happier than when she's with him. She should tell him that. She won't. Not just yet. Baby steps. She wants to get there, and she will. And she wants to hear it from him, too. Because saying words like remarkable, frustrating, maddening, and even love, aren't really same as joy and happiness are they? She needs to know she makes him happy. Wants to be good for him like he is for her.

"What now?" he asks.

Go back to school? . . . More public service? . . . Private security? . . . Cashier at Duane-Reed? . . . "I honestly don't know. Breakfast would be a good start. And maybe some pants."

He laughs, voice still strained. He clears his throat. "That would require getting out of bed. And less nakedness. Not good."

"We have to get out of bed sometime, Castle."

"You don't have to. I can always serve you breakfast in bed." He shoots her a saucy look, flips his hand over so their palms kiss.

"As tempted as I am to see that," she smiles, "no."

"You wanted crackers in bed."

"We can't eat all our meals naked in bed. I'll freeze to death."

"I'll warm you up." As he says it Castle nudges his nose against the delicate skin at her collarbone. Exhales through an open mouth, hot and moist, to prove his point. Mm, that's nice.

"I have to go sometime," she mutters it somewhere into his hair, her eyes sliding shut.

He groans, pulling back, face twisted.

Oh, not like that.

She jerks on their connected hands so that he cants forward, the coffee they're still holding sloshing precariously. Nose to nose she can look hard and square into his eyes.

"I'm not leaving you, Castle. Got it?" He nods. "Good. Now get me some dry clothes."

He smirks slowly at her, pleased, his face relaxing into it.

Oh. Maybe she gave away a little more than she intended. She meant it though. He might as well know she's not going anywhere.

"I put your blue jeans in the dryer before I made the coffee. They should be dry by now. The top was dry-clean only so I hung it up with your jacket. I'll get you one of my t-shirts."

He's off the bed and rummaging through a dresser drawer before Kate can blink. Hm. Tricky Castle. She wonders how much of that little exchange was organic and how much he nudged her into admitting. Perhaps he's been studying too closely at her interrogation techniques.

"Here. I'll get your jeans." He hands her a dark, v neck t-shirt and she tugs it on over her head. She waits until he's out of sight past the hallway to stick her nose in the fabric that hangs, nearly billowing, off her shoulders. It smells like soap and fabric softener, hints of cedar and _him_. It's a little overwhelming. In a good way.

She can hear him moving around the loft, heavy footfalls far then near. Kate smooths the fabric down her arm and readjusts the seams so it hits her shoulder more centered, so the v doesn't show quite so much of her chest.

Castle pads back in and hands her her neatly folded jeans. Oh, and her panties. They're warm and smell almost exactly like the shirt she's wearing. It feels intimate that her own clothes, her _underwear_, smell like him. Like he's branding her and it's spreading all the way to her garments. For some reason (does she have to have reason anymore?) it makes her want to lean up and kiss him.

And she starts to, rising up on her knees to get to him. The long, brightly-colored package he waves proudly in her face stops her.

A toothbrush.

Hm. Right. Of course Rick Castle keeps spare toothbrushes around. You never know, right? Just who might be staying over. Yeah. Uh-huh. He looks so pleased.

"You think you're being coy and helpful. But what's really happening is you're tipping your hand." Kate tries to take as much jealousy out of her voice as possible. It doesn't become her. And regardless, she's the one here now, and she's not giving up her claim on him, even if the thought chafes.

"Do tell. I didn't even know I had a hand to tip."

"Playing the happy host. You mean it to be charming."

"That hurts, Beckett. Am I not charming?" he pouts.

"Hm, yes," she admits, "but a little _too_ prepared." Kate takes it from him and waggles the cheap plastic container in front of him, pink toothbrush jiggling.

"You think - " he clutches his chest, mouth agape in feigned horror. "I'll have you know I got that out of Alexis' bathroom. She keeps one in case she has a friend stay over. _Her_ sleepovers, not mine."

She places her foot on the floor, numb from her sitting on it, and sets her cup on the nightstand. "Good. Let's keep it that way."

Kate is rewarded with a delighted twinkle in his eyes for that comment. She can't help but pat his cheek, his stubble tickling her palm, as she brushes past into the bathroom.

He's smiling at her when she closes the door.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hi sweetheart."

"Hey."

"You're home early." Castle tries not to cut his eyes to his bedroom door. What time is it anyway?

Alexis pauses in the entryway, drops her untouched overnight bag, hangs up her jacket in the closet, leans a hand against the wall while she unclasps the tiny buckle of her strappy heel. She drops a bare foot to the hardwood floor, losing a few inches, then begins working on the other shoe.

"I am." She picks up the heels and rolls her shoulders as she walks toward him. The metallic finish of her now wrinkled, steely grey dress catches the kitchen light, flaring the same color of her eyes, blue-grey and tired and so grown up. There are twin charcoal smudges of mascara under her eyes. Mm-hmm.

"Late night?" He purses his lips and looks menacing. Well. Tries to look menacing.

Alexis parries the same look he's giving her and is infinitely more successful.

"Very," she says with dire seriousness. Then she smiles and pats one cheek (echoes of another hand moments ago) while pushing up on her toes to kiss the other. He sniffs. Absolutely no sign of alcohol. He's pleased and doesn't know if maybe he should be a tiny bit disappointed. High school graduate. His baby is a high school graduate. Valedictorian at that. And now so nearly a college kid. Is it possible for love and pride to rip your heart in half?

"Big breakfast," Alexis says with a raised eyebrow as she snags from the bowl a chunk of strawberry he had just sliced, and surveys the counter. The potatoes awaiting the frying pan, the bell pepper, ham, tomatoes, and chives all on the chopping board waiting to be turned into an omelet or frittata one, he hasn't decided yet.

"Um." He needs to tell her. Fast. Before Kate walks out he doesn't have to tell her. But the words don't come. It's not that he's afraid, just - he thought he'd have time to come up with something eloquent. Something about love and fate. Something that would have a life lesson in it about the trials two people go through when they love each other that only makes them stronger. Something that would make his very reasonable daughter warm to the idea and convince her that he's not going to get his heart broken, even if he's not convinced himself. He's not prepared. Why is she home so early? "I thought you were spending the night with Allison."

His daughter turns sparkling eyes and high wattage smile on him.

"Actually, Daddy," Daddy? Uh-huh. This is going to cost him. "I was wondering -"

"Of course you can." His heart is a little bit overflowing at the moment and he would give her absolutely anything right now. Anything at all.

"Dad, you don't even know what I was going to say." Alexis furrows her brow at him and that stupidly pleases him too.

"Sure I do. And it's fine."

"Really? I never thought you would approve of me getting a tattoo."

"You - what?! No. No, no, no. NO."

"You said yes. And I am eighteen," she murmurs. "You know you really shouldn't be so quick to concede things."

"You are not getting a tattoo, young lady." Hell no.

"I know. Allison's mom and aunt are taking us and a couple of other girls to a spa and then probably shopping. I need your credit card." She flashes happy eyes at him under her lashes, so pleased to have gotten him. Somewhere inside he hoped she was messing with him, but relief still rushes over him like a flood.

"Not funny, daughter. And you can have ALL my credit cards just as long as you promise never to get a tattoo."

"I can't promise never," she plucks another strawberry from the bowl. "But I can promise it won't be happening today."

"If you can promise it won't happen in the next year you can have my platinum card."

"Deal."

They shake on it and she turns for the stairs. He clutches at her fingers as they slip through his grasp and she turns curious eyes on him. Eloquent or not, he has to tell her about this now.

"Alexis -"

"Are you happy, Dad?"

"Uh," where is this coming from? "Yes. I've never been happier." It's true. It radiates through him, a smile breaking his face wide open. A smile he didn't even realize he was trying, in vain, to hold a little in check.

"Then if you're happy, I'm happy."

"Where is this coming from, honey?"

"You and Detective Beckett together. Finally. It's good. I hope it's good." Her eyes are cloudy, serious but steady; earnestness tempered at the edges with concern. Only -?

"How - "

"Her coat is in the closet. And you're cooking a breakfast big enough for an army." She smiles at him like a sphinx. His clever girl.

She squeezes his fingers before letting them go and turning back for the stairs. He should say something, he knows he should, before she disappears up the stairs and the moment passes, but the words seize up around the thud of his heart. Pride and excitement squeezing all the air from his lungs.

"And your smile. Your smile totally gives you away."

* * *

"You think she's really okay with this? With us?"

His eyes are still trained on the empty staircase, never hearing Kate come out of the bedroom. Castle blinks hard, washing away the watercolor imagines of his daughter painting his minds-eye. The little girl who, though he had a hand in every step of her upbringing, can still be completely surprising. The source of her shining brilliance a total mystery to him.

"Castle?" Kate, clean faced and hair wild, beautiful and oddly tentative Kate, stands regarding him on the other side of the island.

Wow. It hits him all over again. Scrapes out every single thing in his mind other than the image of her, wearing his shirt, first thing in the morning. Castle tries to extinguish the flame of hope the image sparks to life in him. The desire for this moment to be repeated each day for as long as they both shall live.

He's getting ahead of himself. Years ahead. If he's lucky. But it's a start.

"Why wouldn't she be okay with us being together?" He knows why. He wants to hear why she thinks that.

Kate sucks in a short, almost startled breath, and he can't help but wonder if it's because they're discussing Alexis' feelings about this or because they're discussing their relationship at all. Their relationship. Huh.

"Things haven't been great between Alexis and me since I was shot. Surely you've noticed." She twists a deprecating smile his way.

"You know why that is."

"I - " Kate pushes strands of hair away from her face, strands that aren't there. It's a nervous tic; pure frustration. It's one of her tells. "I thought I knew why. I think I'm understanding a little more now though."

He waits for her. Doesn't want to rush what new information she's uncovering. He makes the decision for omelets and fried potatoes instead of the frittata. He lights the stove-eye and cranks it up medium-high before placing the skillet on it.

"It wasn't just the danger, was it?"

"No." The truth burns like stomach acid coming up and makes the sizzle of potatoes hitting the grease stink in his nose.

"She's afraid I'm going to hurt you." She regrets the truth behind the words as she says them. He can see it - like grief and certainty shrouding her. He is a coward and has to look away.

"You won't hurt me, Kate."

"Too late, isn't it?"

He doesn't want to say yes. So he says nothing instead.

"You know I never meant to?"

"I know that," he whispers. Can't give the words any more weight than that. Even that breathless admission is pointed, weighty enough to hurt her.

"Castle, I'm so sor -"

"Please don't say it again. I know. And it doesn't matter now."

"If I could have done anything differently I would have."

"I know that. We're here now. That's all that matters."

His eyes track back to her, shoulders slumped and knuckles white where she strangles the counter-top. She opens her mouth like wants to say more, a way to patch what it is that she thinks was broken - and maybe it still is. "Yeah," she flounders.

He'll come up with reassurances later. Find a way to make her believe she has never dished anything out he couldn't take. And maybe even come up with a way to apologize for some of the less than adult behavior on his part. Just not right now.

"Come help me with breakfast."

Kate lets out a deep breath - was she holding her breath? - and her shoulders rise, lips tip up. Not quite a smile, just relief lifting her entire being.

Castle hands over the spatula and Kate stirs the potatoes while he prepares them each another cup of coffee and starts cracking eggs.

"Is Alexis eating with us?"

"Uh," he hadn't thought of that. "Do you want her to?"

"If she wants to." Kate shrugs.

Not an answer.

"I'll ask her." He takes his phone out of the pocket of his robe and presses the icon with Alexis' face on it.

"Jeez, Castle, just go up there and ask her," she huffs at him.

_Breakfast?_ He presses send.

"Trust me, this is faster." Okay, it's part laziness, and part him not wanting to leave Kate's side right now - how long does he have before his desire to hover drives Kate nuts? - but it really is faster.

She glares at him. A light glare. The one that means really? The one that she intends to make him reconsider whatever stupid action he's in the midst of. It never succeeds in doing anything other than goading him on.

His phone pings.

_Supposed to meet everyone at 9:30. About to jump in the shower. Make me a piece of toast for the road?_

"Looks like it's we're on our own. Alexis is meeting friends."

"Oh." She tries to sound neutral but Kate is very clearly relieved. It's silly, but it disappoints him. "She'll have fun with her friends."

"You're relieved." Shit. Why did he say that? What kind of defensive asshole -

"Yeah, a little."

Oh.

Kate's smiling at him. All tentative and hopeful. Huh. Okay, he gets it. "I guess the morning after is a little strange with my kid in tow." It scrunches up his face to think about it. No fair subjecting Alexis to post-coital breaking of bread. Even if it is with Kate.

Kate crooks an eyebrow at him. "Morning after?"

"Well, yeah? That is what this is." He waggles a hand between them.

"Yeah, but you don't have to make it sound so - cheap."

She's not smiling at him anymore. And trying so very hard not to. Her eyes alight with amusement. Kate is messing with him about _their sex life_. How delightful!

"Nothing cheap about it," he roughs out, his voice husky, raw. He doesn't mean for it to sound like that. Didn't mean it to but so glad it did. He watches Kate's eyes change. Mirth flickering out. Her gaze flirts with his mouth, making sly promises there.

The skillet is popping. That browned, nutty smell of sizzling starch.

Castle reaches for the spatula, fingers closing in around Kate's hand, but she won't let go. Kate twists in between him and the stove, presses the lithe length of her body against him. His eyes startle from the stove onto hers. Oh. The potatoes aren't the only thing sizzling. She presses her mouth to his, wet and devastating, and for a moment he can't move. It surprises the hell out of him, shakes him to the core. Kate turned huntress, brutalizing his mouth like he's weak prey. She pulls everything from him and replaces it with shimmering warmth.

His brain won't click-over to follow whatever Kate's trying to tell him with the stroke of her tongue, but at least his mouth is catching up with hers. He nicks at her top lip with his teeth and pulls a gasp from her. It's flares in him, nerve endings catching the light, burning bright with the sun. Heat like a solder welding them together. He pushes them back with his hips until Kate is snug against the cabinet. She presses in return, her chest shoving against his, parrying the movement of his hips. Only now she's angled wrong. He can't quite get at her coy mouth the way he wants to. Castle tugs at the ends of her hair, a gentle request for leverage. Kate tilts up and splits open for him. He takes all that her mouth will offer.

Then she's gone. Before he can wrap his arms around her. Before he can tell her mouth all the different ways he loves her.

"Potatoes are burning," she says. With a flick of her wrist Kate flips the offensive, intrusive little spuds.

"Potatoes aren't the only one."

Kate groans at him. And, okay, yeah, that was horribly cheesy, but she still looks at him like she'd rather eat him for breakfast.


	5. Chapter 5

Castle sat down at the table so his knee is touching her thigh. It works as a conduit. An electric current simmering at a low wattage. She can't focus. It is silly, really. Kate can think of nothing but his bare knee pressed into the seam of her blue jeans.

Distracting. Yes. But so much better than the panic floating at the edge of her mind ever since Alexis got home.

This isn't just Castle. Has never been just Castle. The choices she made - is making - effect his family too. She has known that and there is nothing she could have changed, no way to have saved them both from hurt without making a mess and ruining this beautiful thing. And that knowledge fills her with dread. She will not wreck this.

Can't dwell on it now, though. Only his knee on her thigh. Only the way he smiles at her every time she takes a bite, like every mouthful of egg she chews is a minor miracle. Kate has to avert her eyes when he looks at her that way or she'll never be able to look away.

"It's good," she says. It's better than good. Kate spears a crispy chuck of potato and dunks it in the pool of ketchup on her plate. It's amazing, the best thing she's eaten in ages. Although, maybe it's just because she's so happy. Because she's in love. With Castle. Shit. She's going to start thinking the sun shines out his ass, isn't she? Ugh, more than she already does. She is so screwed.

"It is good." Castle wraps loose fingers around her left arm, presses his thumb gently into the crease of her elbow. "Thank you for helping me."

Kate can't work up anything worth saying out of her mouth. It's not that she's speechless. Just - maybe a little overwhelmed. She smiles at him, wide and bright. Her face a shining beacon of thank you, and I love you, and your welcome, all in one.

Castle gives her that all too soft look of adoration, and it's too much. That look worms its way under her armor. His love real and solid and sharp enough to pierce her heart. Enough to draw a pinprick of blood and the sting of salty tears.

Crap, now she's maudlin. She is oh so very screwed.

Castle eats the rest of his meal left-handed so he can keep the light grasp he has on her arm. Only strawberries left on his plate, though; omelet and potatoes long gone. He stabs at them sloppily, like a Neanderthal.

"Why do you always eat only one thing at a time?" she asks.

"Because room-temp potatoes are just okay. And cold eggs are disgusting, rubbery lumps." He screws his face up as he says it.

"I don't know. My omelet is still pretty tasty," she works the words out around the bite in her mouth, then swallows. "Anyway, you do it with everything, not just eggs. I've noticed."

"Yeah, you notice." He lifts an eyebrow, his voice is low with insinuation. Guilty as charged. Kate can't stop noticing. "It's all about priorities, Beckett." He spins his middle finger around and around the knobby bone that juts at the inside of her elbow. So light it almost tickles.

"You eat your favorites first." Kate absently picks at the fillings of her eggs with her fork, suddenly not very hungry any longer.

"No. I save the best for last." He runs his hand down her arm so he can snag the back of her palm, bringing it to the plane of his cheek. It's prickly against her skin. "So I can savor it." He turns to kiss the thin skin of her wrist, the skin bluish with the convergence of veins. He lingers and must feel the pulse jumping out against him there.

It is absurd that he tries to make a conversation about his strange eating habits into something romantic and meaningful. It's even more absurd that it is totally working on her. Fine. She'll take everything he seems to be promising. She'll be his best. And his last.

He watches her, heated and so intent. Her fingers curl around his hand, his lips trailing softly along the side of her palm. It sends slivers of warmth down her arm, like an injection of heat right into her bloodstream, with every beat pumping nearer her heart. It makes her want to push the plates aside and finish what she started by the stove earlier.

"Morning you two."

Kate drops her fork with a mortifying clatter against her plate when Alexis rounds the stairs. Heat rushes up her cheeks and Kate hopes desperately it doesn't show. It's just Alexis, and she already knows that they're. . . _together_. Kate hastily pulls her hand away from Castle's lips and tries to send an apologetic look his way. Tries not to look like she feels - like she has been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Good morning," Kate says, pleased that her voice is clear and strong.

Alexis comes to stand behind her father, hand on his shoulder. She smiles a small smile at Kate. And it's dim, but her eyes are clear. She seems genuine and happy enough. It eases a fraction of Kate's anxiety. She can deal with guarded as long as it's not hostile.

"Toast?" Alexis addresses her father. She smells brightly of soap and fresh makeup; her hair in a perfect braid slung across her shoulder.

"Wrapped in a paper towel on the counter. Next to a bottle of water and my credit card." Castle twists in his chair to look up at her. His smile is gleaming and proud, just for his daughter. It reminds Kate that he is that way with everything and everyone he loves. He loves completely and enthusiastically. Including her.

"Thanks, Dad," she says. She kisses the top of his head and offers another kind look Kate's way before turning to leave.

Shit.

She should say something else.

"Congratulations," Kate trips on the word and it comes out in a strangle.

Alexis pauses at the bar and turns back around, confusion in her stance.

"On graduating. And for getting into Columbia," Kate says, tries to push as open and earnest a look on her face as possible. "It's a huge life step." Lame, Beckett.

"Yeah," Alexis stands, a slight frown creasing her brow, considering for a moment. "You too." She smiles briefly, looking relieved, then collects her things off the bar and is gone.

You too?

What is that supposed to mean?

Castle practically vibrates in his chair with barely restrained happiness. And, all right, she sees it. She can get past the sour taste of condescension in her mouth. She didn't mean it that way. It was - what? - Alexis giving her approval? Meant to be a blessing of sorts. A, _glad you finally worked out your shit and made this major life decision._ That's fair. Kate can accept that. And she knows, Kate knows, that any lingering resentment she feels here is all in her head. Her own guilt clouding her judgment.

If she's being honest with herself all the things that give Alexis pause about their relationship are the things that scare Kate too. The girl is just protective of her father. Kate would be the exact same way if it were her own father.

Kate tries smiling at him but it feels off. The skin stretched too tight across her face.

Castle traces his index finger along the inside of her forearm where it rests on the tabletop. A tender effort to get back to the place they were a few minutes ago. But Kate's heart's not in it. The moment has passed.

She lays her right hand over his, stilling his movements and caressing briefly, before standing up and grabbing both their plates.

"I'll get those," he says, but she pays him no mind. He trails not far behind her, balancing their cups, the bottle of ketchup, salt and pepper shakers in his arms. Kate's lips quirk at the sight. God forbid he makes two trips.

"You did most of the cooking. I'll clean up," Kate replies. She turns the tap on waiting for the water to get hot and plugs the sink (with the stupidly cute blue plastic octopus stopper) and squirts in a generous stream of dish liquid. While it fills Kate scrapes their plates into the trash can - well, her plate, his plate is picked clean - as Castle goes about putting away condiments and pouring them one last cup of coffee each from the dregs of the pot. She submerges their plates in the sink and the scalding hot water shocks her skin. Yeah, it burns maybe a little too much, but Kate's always liked it. Likes the burn of the water and the sweet stink of the soap washing everything away, making everything clean and new again.

Kate doesn't hear him come up behind her and startles, knocking an elbow against the hard granite edge of the counter when his breath skirts the exposed skin of her shoulder where the over-sized shirt hangs off her.

"You don't have to do those plates by hand. Let me put them in the dishwasher." Before the words are even out of his mouth he is reaching around her, his hand brushing hers in the water. "If you don't mind though, washing the skillets and knives by hand. The knives get dull and rusty in the dishwasher."

"I don't mind." Her voice sounds small, even in her ears. The words taught somewhere between the body draped over her and the ephemeral thing that is his hand brushing hers under the suds. She turns towards him slightly, can't help but. The hair that dried curly and uncontrollable brushing against his ear. From her peripheral view she can see only the mountainous ridge of his hair sticking out across his brow, the arch of his nose.

"Thanks." His lips punctuate the word, placed brief and light on the bare rise of her shoulder. He lingers just a moment, hovers, breathing in her skin, and then pulls the plates up, letting the water run off some, before turning toward the dishwasher.

Kate lets her eyes slip shut, just for a second, savoring the moment. Rolling around in the feeling of this, all of this. A lazy morning together. Him solid at her back while she cleans up. It makes her want things she's afraid to ask for. Kate opens her eyes and lets the moment go, shakes the water and bubbles off her hands and goes about collecting things to wash by hand.

They move around each other smoothly, a well-oiled machine. They have always worked well together. They're finished in minutes, the kitchen newly sparkling clean and awaiting the next mess.

Kate wipes her hands, pink and already starting to prune, on the dishtowel and replaces it on the hook. Castle walks past her headed to the trash can, coffee filter full of wet grounds pulled together at the top like a purse in his hand. She's finding it increasingly difficult to keep her hands to herself and can't help reaching out, snatching at his robe as he passes, finding the end of one of the ties. As he keeps walking it comes undone.

"Hey," Castle toes the can open and tosses the used filter in. "You undressing me?" He comes back to stand in front of where she's leaning against the counter.

The lapels of the robe fall open and expose the snug white undershirt and black boxers he has on underneath. "Maybe." Kate runs hot fingers up under the sides of his shirt, skirting the soft skin above the band of his boxers. "You got a problem with that?"

"No - not -" He swallows hard and closes his eyes tight. He shakes his head vigorously and leans into her touch, tries answering again. "No. Don't mind. Seems like a good idea. One of your best." Castle opens his eyes and spears her with his look. So in love with her and completely turned on, just from this one touch. It knocks her socks off.

"I am pretty smart," she says, running her hands further around his sides, brushing up along his ribs.

"Brilliant. A genius." Castle leans in further, keeping his damp hands away from her, fingers stained ocher with coffee, nuzzling her cheek with his nose, skimming his lips along her temple and across the slope of her ear. "Smartest person I know, Kate."

"What's next?"

He pulls back, startled. And then she can see it there. Awash in his eyes the hope of their future, beautiful and unspeakably too much. Of rings and promises, of growing old, of, maybe -

Oh, it's too much. It's not what she meant.

Kate presses her forehead into his chin. "Not - I meant today. What's next _today_?"

She feels him exhale slowly. "Well, I was going to shower. But now I think this." He runs his lips along her hairline, then dips down, quick and dirty, to take her mouth. "I think we should do this," he murmurs over her. His hands rest on the counter, framing her, their noses bumping. Kate snakes her arms around him as tight as she can get, fingers splayed wide exploring the play of his muscles. It is so warm trapped within his shirt and robe. He goes for her lips again but she ducks her head and presses her mouth, smudged wet with his kiss, on the underside of his jaw, lingering.

"Go get in the shower, Castle," she nudges him.

"Don't wanna." He shakes his head, knocking into hers.

She pushes up onto her toes, sliding the lengths of their bodies together, her mouth at his ear.

"Go get clean so I can get you dirty again," she breathes.

He growls and she can feel it shaking free all the way up from deep inside. It pleases her and makes her want him to change her mind.

"Okay, I'm going." He says it but doesn't move an inch. Stays right there in her tight embrace.

They stay that way as the seconds turn into minutes, light touches of his lips on her, gentle caresses of her fingers on him. She breathes him in. Loving his body over hers. Loving him.

"Go, Castle."

And he goes.


	6. Chapter 6

She waits until she hears the shower running to press send. Paces from the nightstand where she left her phone and into the study. Kate's not trying to keep it from him. She just wants to talk in private. Not have to censor what she says or think about whether her end of the conversation will worry him.

Ryan answers on the second ring.

"Hey. Beckett." He sounds hopeful if restrained.

"Hey." She waits, the things she wanted to say deserting her. Over the line she can hear the puff of his breathing and papers shuffling.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah. I'm good." Kate glances behind herself, half expecting Castle to be standing in the doorway, as if he would materialize for this admission. "I'm actually better than I thought I would be."

"Good." He sounds muffled; far away. She can picture the phone slipping down his chin as he reaches for another file. He's got to be busy. Kate imagines Gates made him lead detective. Wonder who his team is?

"Have you talked to Javi?" she asks.

There's a pause and she can hear him shift, his chair creaking. "No."

This is her fault. Made them lie for her. Put these men in impossible positions. She tore them apart. "He'll come around."

"Yeah," Ryan clears his throat on a cough. "In time, right?" He doesn't believe a word of that.

Kate rounds the desk where she was standing and walks to the terrace doors, late morning sunlight bleeding through the glass, warming her face. It's now or never. "I'm sorry, Ryan."

"You don't have to apologize. Not your fault."

"It is." She feels it rushing out of her in a torrent. "I put you in an impossible situation. Asked you to do things I had no right in asking. If you would have listened to me I'd be dead right now. So yeah, I owe you an apology."

"Are you really not coming back?"

It's swift and knocks her off track. "I - " Kate pushes a hand into her hair, pulling it into a tangled knot at the back of her head. "No. I can't come back."

"You know I'm going to work really hard to change your mind."

"Ha!" The laugh bubbles out of her unauthorized. "I would expect no less." He chuckles in response and for a moment it feels completely back to normal.

"Listen, I gotta go. Some jackhole offed himself in a senator's office. I got a stack of paperwork to fill out taller than me."

How quickly that little bit of information wakes that always hungry curiosity in her, gaping and wide. She clenches her fist against it. Not any of her business anymore.

His breathing pauses and the background noises hush for a split second. "You'll stay in touch?"

"Of course." And she means it. Doesn't know what she would do without her boys. She can't imagine what it will be like not having them by her side every day.

He's about to hang up, but she's got one more thing she must say. "Thank you, Kevin. For what you did." Radio silence. Kate pulls the phone away to see if the call is already disconnected. It's not. She hears him murmur faintly as she pushes the phone back to her ear.

"That's what families do."

Then he hangs up.

* * *

Clouds traverse the sky and consume the sunshine in their pure, marshmallow fluff. It's too cool in the study all of a sudden, the air-conditioning unrelenting. Kate's bare toes curl and flex against the hardwood floor.

The phone is still clutched tightly in her hand. She should call Esposito now too. But she can't. It feels like she's skirting the edge of something dangerous that she can't even get her fingers around long enough to understand. Like if she keeps looking back at her old life she'll turn into a pillar of salt. She'll get it together better. Once this edge has worn off she'll call him; see if she can atone and maybe even broker some peace treaty.

For now she's restless with this stupid feeling of dread. The shower is still running, and Kate wishes Castle would hurry up and finish so he could come distract her.

She paces around his desk, touching scraps of paper with cryptic messages neatly staggered in a line across the desktop, messing slightly with the way they're aligned. He's neat like she is, and that little change in order with bother him. He will notice. And he'll know she was the one fingering his things. Uh-huh.

She smiles as she strokes a finger down the long, golden tassel fixed over the lamp's finial. Alexis' memento. It's sweet.

And not enough of a distraction.

Kate pulls a leather-bound edition off the shelf and is surprised to flip it open and see Castle's own blocky hand across the page. Her nail catches the glossy edge of a photo as it falls from the pages. A baby-faced Rick Castle and Kyra Blaine look back at her. Now Kyra Murphy. It makes her proud that she can look at the photo and smile. No hint of misplaced jealousy and only a modicum of the feeling of wasted time clouding at the corners of her consciousness.

Look how young he is. She tucks it closer to the spine so it will stay and lets the pages slip through her fingers as she goes to close the book. As much as she wants to read, greedy to see all the secrets held within his journal, she lets it close. As it does the title page catches her eye. A Rose For Everafter

Oh, wow. It's his handwritten manuscript.

It thrills her with the sudden reminder that she's in the study, touching the very pen-point script, of her favorite author. If her 22-year-old self could see her now.

Kate cracks the pages wide open again, brushes her fingertips along the lovingly phrased dedication. Feels the pride tugging at her. It's an exclusive club having this man dedicate a book to you. Kate's in good company with Kyra. She wonders what meaningful words he will choose for Frozen Heat?

She reads the first few pages eagerly; playing a game of Spot the Difference. Phrases changed here, a character's name there. After the first chapter her mind starts wandering. Remembering the first time she read it. What a happy distraction it was in a terminal sea of darkness.

Kate closes the book and places it back on the self. She'll remember it's there. Save it for a time when she can savor the words instead of letting it shadow her mind.

She grabs the TV remote and throws herself in the big leather settee not thinking, wincing when she jams her damaged ribs against the arm of the chair. She shifts and the peel of pain ebbs away. She has to change the input settings but in a flash a saccharine morning chat show fills the screen.

"How to lose your post-baby fat and get your body back!"

Completely irrelevant and just the kind of mindless distraction she needs.

She pulls at the ends of throw draped across the back of the chair. Lets the warmth of the micro-fleece cocoon her. In all honesty it's probably genuine cashmere, unlike the one on her own sofa, but she's not going to think about that.

Wow. Did J-Lo really lose sixty pounds in eight weeks after her twins were born? That can't be healthy.

"Is there something you need to tell me?" Castle stands at the doorway in a black v-neck tee, just exactly like the one she's wearing, and blue jeans gathering on the floor around his bare feet, still wet hair combed back, humor ticking in his face.

Tell him what?

His eyes flick to the TV.

Oh that. Ha! No.

No way.

He's smiling at her. Knowing what she's thinking and daring her to say just that. Pushing just to get a rise out of her. To see how flustered he can make her at the prospect. Two can play that, though.

Kate tilts up her face and looking at him through her lashes murmurs low, "not yet."

She regrets it as soon as it's out of her mouth. As soon as his eyes track down her curled up body like she could already know something he doesn't. Like she's a holy temple. Like she's the Madonna.

She shakes her head. "No. Kidding. It's not funny. I take it back."

"Can't take it all the way back. I heard it," he says, taking a step closer.

"Forget that you did. It was stupid. I was just trying to one up you." Her palms are sweaty.

"Do you want that someday, Kate?" He blurts out, eyes wide.

Shiit. They are not really talking about this. She works at channeling what indignation she can find and ignoring the terror creeping up her spine. "Jeez, Castle. Seriously? I'm not having this conversation with you right now. We have been together less than a day. I am not discussing having children with you."

"I didn't say with me." His voice squeaks. Isn't that just what he said? He certainly implied it. He gapes, going for humor, hiding behind the joke. But she sees it. Fear. And something that almost looks a little like longing. Or maybe she is just projecting. Shit.

He's giving her an out. She doesn't know why she doesn't take it.

"No." She takes a deep breath and wishes she would just close her damn mouth. "I've never seen that for myself." After her mother - no. She has never been able to imagine it. But - "But there are a lot of things I didn't see for myself." You. Kate closes her eyes to block out the startling blue wave. Then she just says it. "Ask me how I feel again in six months."

Castle lets out a long breath and Kate opens her eyes to see relief there. Yeah, she's relieved too. It's crazy that she's even thinking about it now. Good God. No getting pregnant. No talking about getting pregnant. Like Fight Club.

He nods his agreement and smiles the reflection of her own. It eases everything else. Six months and they can_ talk_ about what they might want then. In the future. They'll still be here in this in six months.

Castle pushes down in the chair next to her, enveloping all the free space. "Sixty pounds in eight weeks, huh? That can't be healthy."

"Right? My thoughts exactly," she says, wiggling down where she can rest her chin on her knee, his arm just under her shoulders keeping her close.

Kate doesn't see another thing on the TV. Instead she chooses to watch him. He looks so fresh and bright, delectable. He shaved. She wants to run her tongue along his jaw where the skin is still sensitive and awake from the razor. In the low light his wet hair looks almost black, and she wants to stick her hands in it.

They're quiet and comfortable tucked together. Her vision rising and falling with each breath that expands his chest.

With her guard down it sneaks around her defenses. Slowly she feels it building back up, licking at her spine, curling in her muscles.

The dread. She knows what's coming and wants to put it off a little bit longer.


	7. Chapter 7

He was only kidding. Pushing her buttons like he always does. But. . . Six months. Then they'll talk about it. In six months he is going to talk to _Beckett_ about the future desire (sometime long, long in the future) of starting a family. Together. Jesus.

No, okay. He can do this. No need to freak out. It's not like they're going to start. . . trying. In six months. Just addressing the state of their union. Hm, that's clever.

That's six months to figure out how to answer that same question he posed her. Is this something he wants?

That was one of the few things that he agreed on with Gina in their marriage. No kids. No discussion.

However, with Kate? The thought of her wanting that, wanting to _share_ that with _him_, is something he never imagined. And oh, the imagery of a little person that is a combination of both of them is undeniably enticing.

But. . . He's just finished raising one child, as much as one ever "finishes." Does he really want to be doing all of this again, watching his baby graduate, sending them off to college, when he's sixty?

He sighs, a little too heavy, and cuts his eyes down to where Kate is snuggled beneath his arm. She doesn't seem to notice. Good. Kate is watching him so intently, but her mind seems miles away. Maybe he should say something about - it. The thing they were just talking about. Say something to ease her mind. Only, he doesn't want to bring it up again. Needs some time to get the fear unfurling in his stomach under control. Try not to think about it.

He refocuses on the television, needing a distraction. Are those toddlers wearing high heels? God, this talk show is terrible. What did Kate do with the remote? Is he sitting on it? He shifts up and runs his right hand under his thigh. Nothing. Maybe it's wrapped up in her blanket. He reaches around her, rousing her from wherever her mind was. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for the remote. I can't watch this," he replies.

"Oh." Kate pushes up on her toes against the leather so that she can reach back, searching. She falls forward into him as she frees the remote from its prison in the cushions. It presses her all the length of his side, her face at his neck. Castle thinks she's trying the regain her balance from the way she's perched, almost crouching on her toes.

And then her tongue touches his jaw-bone. She traces up the side of his face like a cat, until it's just the very tip of her tongue playing at the junction of his earlobe. He has to remember to draw a breath as he tightens the arm around her shoulders, clutching as if she might spring away from him. The remote drops with a crack of plastic to the floor so that he can quest his right hand into the blanket looking for skin. Any of her skin, all of it.

Kate stays tight against him even as her mouth pulls away. Just her forehead pressed against his skull, her breath in hot puffs on the trail of wet drawn along his jaw.

Ah, success. Castle finds the hem of her shirt and spreads his hand on the creamy-soft flesh he finds, a thumb at her bellybutton, fingers across the arch of her ribcage. Kate hisses pleasure in his ear, and he grasps at her, his hand roughly moving up her side, under her arm. The trap of her shirt and bunch of the blanket restrict him too much, makes him frantic, his thumb skirting the tender underside of her breast but still an inch away from where -

Kate sucks in another short gasp of air and - whoa, that does not sound like pleasure. She's rigid under him and coiled tight. Castle turns to get a look at her, any indication of what is wrong, but she turns with him, keeps her forehead buried in the hair behind his ear. He loosens his grip at her side and it seems to ease her.

Yeah. Of course it does. God, he's so stupid.

Kate runs her lips from behind his ear down his neck, along the v of his shirt.

It feels good. Great - only, no. Not- not when he just hurt her. Unintentionally, but - He draws her away from him as gently as he can.

Kate is glaring at him. Too bad. She doesn't like him mollycoddling her? Well, he doesn't like his touch hurting her.

"Let it go, Castle. I'm fine," she says, trying for strong but the ruff edge of irritated biting at the words.

He shakes his head.

Kate looks down at his mouth, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lips. God. Does she know she does that? She must. That's why she's doing it now. Using it against him. Sexual warfare. She leans into his mouth even as he tries to gain a little more space.

"Kiss me," she tells him. He does.

He kisses her slowly, just the light touch of his lips to hers. He tries not to react when she opens her mouth, runs the tip of her tongue across the seam of his lips. Nope. He lets his kiss wander along to her cheek, loving the cove of her cheekbone.

Kate sighs her frustration, like gravel in her throat.

"Let me see where, Kate," he whispers in her ear. She doesn't move.

"Please?" She pulls back to look at him, regarding him, wary but softer. Still she doesn't acquiesce.

"I want to know where I can touch you and not hurt you," he murmurs, his voice thick. It's weighing him down, the reality of her bruises like an anchor.

She stands, and for a moment he thinks she'll walk away. She doesn't. Kate lets the throw fall to the rug before tugging her t-shirt over her head, flesh bare from the waist up.

He doesn't see it at first. The light from the TV flickering colors through the room. But then - yeah, that wasn't there earlier. Surely he would have noticed the stripe of dull green across her side. The width of a shin. Shit.

"Where else?" There is desperation in his voice that Kate must hear. She hesitates.

"My knees," she says.

Okay. Knees. _Take a deep breath, Rick._

"Where else?"

"Here," she touches two fingers to her neck.

Goddammit. It's faint but there it is. Barely starting to color the soft skin at her throat. Fingerprints. That dickhead had his hands tight enough around Kate's neck to leave a mark.

"And here." She turns and he sees twin abrasions, pink along the severe line of her scapula. Kate unbuttons her jeans and pulls them slightly past her hips. It's the worst one. Or at least the most colorful. Nothing is worse than the one at her neck. There is a livid green bruise the size of a softball at the very base of her tailbone. From where Maddox threw her down.

Fuck. He's going to be sick. He takes a deep breath and tries to swallow away the nausea roiling in his guts, his mouth thick with bitter saliva.

Kate turns back to him, runs cool fingers across his brow. It helps. Castle threads both his index fingers through the belt-loops on her hips. Not really touching her where the denim is gaping, unbuttoned and loose, but still mooring himself to her, pinkies slipping into the edge of her back pockets.

"You okay?" she asks apologetically. Apologetic. Like she did this to him.

He's an asshole. Making her show him this. She should be dead right now and Kate's worried about _him_.

"I'm sorry," he says, unable to tear his eyes away from the illusion of color on her neck.

"It's really not that bad. I'll probably be sore as hell tomorrow. Nothing a good soak and a glass of wine can't cure," she says softly, laughter almost hinting in her voice. She runs her hand through his hair.

It's not like she hasn't been hurt since he's been her partner. This is just - different. Maybe it's worse because of watching her get shot. Her mortality a tangible thing. Or maybe it's because it's the first time the caress of his hands have found those tender wounds she keeps so deftly hidden. Like a curtain pulled back and Kate's soft, vulnerable center revealed.

"I'm sorry." He had no right to push her. To expose her this way. Even to him. "You shouldn't have shown me."

Kate runs cold around him, like liquid mercury. She drops her hand from his hair, curls her fingers at her side before releasing the grip.

"Apparently not." Kate scoops up the shirt, his hands falling from her, turning as she slips it on over her shoulders, almost hiding the wince that action causes, before striding to the terrace door.

Crap. That's not how he meant it to sound. Castle shuffles up, following after her.

Kate doesn't say anything to him, remains silently pulled away, her arms crossed. Stubborn. He edges his way between her and the glass so he can see her, force himself past the barrier of her instincts. Her face is hard, resolute, but her eyes are gleaming, betraying her.

He cups her elbow and tilts his head down, interrupting her sight-line, looking her square in the eye, making sure he has her attention. "I shouldn't have insisted and made this about me." The v where her eyebrows are creased fiercely together relaxes, even as she tightens her arms across her chest. She shifts the weight on her feet. If he didn't know any better he'd think she was self-conscious. Is she? "Kate, do you think this diminishes you to me in some way?"

"What? No!" Her eyes flash with surprise.

"Of course it doesn't," he sighs. Right, not self-conscious. He should have known better than that.

She looks a little desperate, a shimmer collecting in the corner of her eyes. And something else. A ferocity thrumming in her muscles.

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Kate. I have no right asking you to catalog all the places that bastard had his hands on you. You're hurt; he nearly killed you, and I'm the jerk bringing it back up."

"No," Kate shakes her head, her hair a shivering halo, "you didn't want to hurt me. That's okay. But you can't treat me like I'm breakable every time something happens."

"I won't. And it doesn't matter. It's over, Kate. You're safe. This isn't going to happen again."

"Yeah, no. You're right." Kate sucks in a sharp breath through her nostrils and releases it slowly, preparing herself. He's unsure if he wants to know for what. "How safe am I really?"

His heart trips over her words, stuttering then speeding up. "What?"

"How safe? You said there's a deal for my life. You've got to tell me what you know, Castle. Am I really that safe?"

"Well - yes. You're still here. That's why Maddox didn't finish what he started, right? As long as you don't investigate, Smith can keep you safe."

"Who's keeping Smith safe?" He opens his mouth to speak, but she keeps going, her mind clicking over. It's the same look she gets when she's staring at the murder board, trying to create a full picture with only bits of information. "There must be something keeping him alive. What is it? What does he know, Castle?"

"He knows - everything?"

"Then we just need to find him. Make him tell us all of it." Kate's eyes are fierce, focused on some point through him, another plane, her jaw clenched, decided.

"The hell we do." He clutches at her elbow, his fingers tight, before remembering and letting go. His hands fist and press against his thighs. There's no way he's letting her do this.

No - that's untrue. He can't stop her. He has already tried. "I'm not having this fight again, Kate. I won't help you with this. I am not going to be an accomplice to what gets you killed." He's raising his voice and he doesn't mean to, nearly shouting, pain and panic shredding his control.

"No," she blinks and refocuses her eyes on him, returning from whatever purgatory her mind journeys to. "No, not that. I am done with it, Castle, I promise." A cloud passes across her face, casting a shadow of sadness. She runs a hand up his chest, resting over his heart, and works her tongue over her lips, hesitant, the words catching just past her molars. "I don't think the deal is working."

"Of course it is. It has to be. You'd be dead if it wasn't." He hates himself for even saying those words, his chest tightening with desperation that feels a lot like tears. Her face is so serious, regretful. And it scares him. Maybe - "Why do you think that, Kate?"

"I don't know. I can't - explain it. Something about the way Maddox left things. He said he knows exactly what he's up against. I didn't feel like - Castle, it felt like he was saying it was just a matter of time. Whatever the obstacle, they will overcome it. They will come for me."

"No, no," he shakes his head, ashamed to feel the two fat tears let loose from him when he blinks. "They won't. If they could get to you they already would have."

"They don't stop. You know that," she whispers.

Kate sets her mouth in a screwed-up line when she looks, really looks, at him. She reaches, brushing her thumb across his cheekbone, moisture in its wake. "Maybe you're right, Castle. I did quit my job. Not so much a threat as an unemployed mess. I'm sure I'm just being paranoid." She is lying. Just trying to make him feel better.

"Hey," she palms the back of his neck, her voice soft but her hand strong pressing into his skin, "I'm wrong. Don't think like that -" He doesn't want to, honestly, but he can't stop himself - until she places a kiss at the edge of his mouth, lingering, her breath sweet. She moves her bottom lip to the crook of his chin, her top lip sliding along his bottom, fitting there. He can't help but twine his arm around her back, mapping the places he knows are unscathed, because he can. He gets to do this now. Touch her when he wants to, drawing along her skin because _he can._ She's here with him now. But for how long? Fuck - Kate -

Castle covers her mouth with his own, blocking the sob wracking him to come out. Because what if she's right and it's only a matter of time?

Kate pushes up into him, violent, her teeth and tongue vicious and lovely. "Stop holding back. I want you," she bites the words into the middle of his jaw as she pushes him against the glass with a gritty crack.

So he does. Breaking. He pours into her, the sob a fractured moan in her mouth followed by his tongue. His fingers a vice at the curve where her ass meets her thigh, the others jerking into the tangle of her hair. Kate's fingers work at the button on his jeans even as he crowds into her, needing her to move before the weakness in his knees and crushing need for her takes them down. He trips into her, pants already sliding off his hips, and there is no way they'll make it all the steps to his bedroom. Castle sidesteps gracelessly, taking her, still panting into his mouth, with him. The armchair scrapes back with the force of them as they fall until it stops against the bookcase.

Kate rises up above him, the only thing in his vision, knees the parenthesis of his thighs, pressed into the soft leather, her hair a silk drapery around him. He doesn't know what he would do - there is no coming back from losing Kate Beckett.

"I want this, Kate," he gasps into her neck, her hands working all the while, divesting him of his shirt, tugging the elastic of his boxers. "I'll never get enough of you. I will want you forever." It's too much, but it's billowing out of him.

She is a phoenix in his arms, eyes like fire on his. "I'm yours, Castle. For as long as you want me. Forever."

He kisses her, ripping at her clothes, trying to get impossibly closer. It will never be enough.

She loves him.


	8. Chapter 8

She sticks to him, sweat binding them together, pooling wet and cool in the hollow of her throat, sliding, tickling, down her calf and absorbing into her jeans where they twist around her ankle.

That was - wow. The pound of her heart is slowly subsiding, no longer a frantic drumbeat in her ears. The fire scorching her veins now a pleasant, prickling warmth.

Castle is still beneath her, serene, his lips resting soft on her shoulder, the stutter of his breath painting and cooling her skin.

She giggles. Feels it bubbling up low and quiet out of her and can do nothing to stop it. She's draped over Rick Castle's body, naked, sweat mingling all the places they touch, completely satisfied. And she's never been happier.

She can feel his lips curl up where they're pressed against her skin, smiling broad at her uncontrollable mirth. She scratches lightly along the back of his head, fingers buried deep in his hair, her forearms resting on his shoulders, palms cradling his skull. Her body seems to rock, just a little, with the beat of her heart.

"We're really good at this," he mumbles against her.

Better than good. They're damn near spectacular.

"Mm, yeah," she licks her lips and can taste the salt of his sweat there. "Think how good we'll be once we keep practicing."

"God, Kate. You can't say things like that," he grumbles.

"Why not?" She pulls back just enough to see the side of his face.

"'Cause it make me want to carry you in the bedroom and _practice_." He emphasizes the word, flowing dark and delicious from his mouth.

"Give me five minutes and a glass of water and you're on."

He nearly throws her to the floor in his haste to get up, catching her at the last second by the back of her thighs. His hands are hot and wide on her sensitive skin. Oh, she is so keenly aware of those hands. Of how he could maybe just keep his hands where they're touching her, and then maybe up and -

No. Break first. Then touching.

He shimmies from under her, throwing a hand out against the door-frame to keep from falling when he tries walking, his feet stumbling on the hem of his jeans as he's tugging them up on the way to the kitchen.

Kate lets her knees give out under her, bare back falling against the warm leather. She untangles the twisted denim and lace from around her ankle and slides them on. Her shirt's here somewhere. Oh - there it is, caught on a small sculpture acting as a bookend on a high shelf behind the chair. She has to work to unhook it without bringing the books down with it.

She settles back in the chair clothed and feeling accomplished.

The news plays on the TV soundlessly. She watches with an absent mind, waiting for him, eyes tracking the blocks of closed captioning that pop up. It sparks something, a memory or - intuition, something familiar. Hm, she can hear Castle humming as he walks nearer the study. The sound is pleasant and contented. She smiles. She can feel it when she brings the back of her hand to her mouth, the curve of her lips, the joy pouring out between her knuckles, her flesh unable to dam it.

His humming stops.

The fine hair on the back of her neck and arms stands straight up in the fractured moment before he comes through the door. Her body somehow knowing, responding with thready anticipation before she understands what's happening.

Crystal hits the rug with a thump, bouncing. Water splashes up in a high arch, then down in a sickly-sounding flop, soaking into the white shag. The glass doesn't break.

Kate's eyes dart to him. Castle, ashen, smile frozen in a horrid mask on his face, stands stock-still. Her heart trips with it. What in the world -

"That's him, Beckett." His voice is quiet, eyes never leaving the television.

"Who? Who are you talking about?"

"That's _him_. Smith! Jesus, Kate. It's – God. He's dead. We've got to – I don't know. Kate, he's dead." His eyes are like saucers, breath coming in gasps. All the color is leached from his face. It scares her, blood running in a cold river through her veins. "They killed him. They'll – Kate?"

Castle sways, and it looks like he's about to go down.

"Okay. Okay, Castle." She stands reaching for him, her hands on his forearms, steadying them both. "That's Smith?" That isn't the name that accompanies the photo the local news is showing. He nods. "We – we should call Ryan. He's working this." That's the connection flitting at the back of her mind. Ryan. Senator Bracken's office.

"What?" His eyes snap from the TV to her.

"I talked to him earlier. While you were in the shower. He told me he was working a suicide in a Senator's office."

"Suicide? That's not what –"

"I know it's not. We need to tell Ryan. See what he knows." Kate can't seem to stop looking over her shoulder, seeing out of the corner of her eyes the silver hair and strong, handsome features of this stranger. The man who has been keeping her alive this last year. The man who knows - knew - everything. She needs to unlock her knees before her legs go numb.

"Kate," he says, his voice nothing more than a moan.

"No, Castle, listen to me. It will be okay. They're desperate." She blinks when the news switches over to images of a wreck on the George Washington Bridge. Just like that, the world moves on. It feels like a ghostly presence has left the room with it. "They staged this to look like a suicide, okay? They've never done that before. There will be something, some piece of evidence." He shakes his head, disbelieving. "There _will_. We will get them."

"I don't want you investigating this."

Her attention shifts fully back to him. He's serious. Fuck.

"I have to."

"No," his says, voice hard, stern.

"You know I do. There is nothing to stop them from coming for me, Castle. If I don't stop them, they will end me. You know that." She knows he does, tries to appeal to his senses. There is no escaping this. Only ending it.

"Let's get out of town. I'll book us a flight. Anywhere you want to go." He tries smiling at her.

"They will find us."

"No, we'll go to the Caymans. I know a guy. We can get fake IDs. We can disappear."

"God, Castle, do you hear yourself? We are not going on the run. What about your daughter? Our families?" That gets him. Of course it does. He could never in a million years leave his daughter. Even for her.

"All right. No running." He swallows, and looks down at her, begrudgingly resolved. "Yeah. Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Let's – call Ryan. Don't –" he breathes out, "don't tell him anything. Set up a place for us to meet."

And there he is. Her partner. Steel in his eyes. She's never been more thankful that he has her back.

"Okay. I need to change. Where's my –"

"Laundry room. I hung it up to dry." Castle tries grinning at her as much as he can muster.

She runs her hand over his bare chest, the skin still heated from where mere minutes ago, a lifetime ago, their friction started a fire. She wants to linger just a moment, not let this go. But it's too late. That bubble of perfection has burst. If they make it back here tonight she'll do whatever it takes to rebuild it. "Get dressed and I'll call Ryan."

He throws a look over his shoulder as he walks through the bedroom door. One that she doesn't really want to decipher.

Kate grabs her phone off the edge of his desk, clenches it tighter in her grasp when she notices the tremor she can't quite stop. She grits her teeth together and counts to ten. She will not lose it right now. She can do this. Not like she has a choice.

They got to Smith. She doesn't have a spare moment to consider or mourn yet another victim, even if his innocence is questionable. It's - God, it's too soon. There is no more protection.

She thought they had more time.

She counts to ten again and breathes through it, works at unfastening the clasp of her jaw.

Kate places the call as she strides through the dining area to get to the laundry room. The smell swamps her when she steps in. It smells of sweet detergent and starch. It smells like Castle and it's lovely. She takes off the t-shirt and tosses it in the basket, not really wanting to be rid of it.

Her socks are on top of the dryer, and she jerks them on crooked, hopping from one foot to another. She maneuvers the still ringing phone onto her shoulder as she pulls the bra straps over her arms. It clings to her, damp and unpleasant. Ryan's greeting is a distant whisper and Kate has to juggle the phone to make it back to her ear.

They set up a meeting place quickly and Ryan unquestioningly accepts that she can't tell him the reason why over the phone.

She rounds to the front hall, fingering the phone into her pocket, toying with the corner of the plastic case. Her shirt is hung next to her jacket, nestled within Castle and Alexis' spring coats; and something that looks like the hide of an exotic beast, clearly Martha's. Kate rips her items off the hanger and tries not to think about him not coming home.

The cloth sticks grossly to her sides. The leather jacket, still heavy with rainwater, molds to her, smoothing out her rough edges. It feels right, if uncomfortable; her clothes like cold armor against the coming evil. Remaking herself piece by piece.

She wishes she had her gun. There's always her personal weapon in the credenza, but she doesn't want to go to her apartment to get it before meeting with Ryan. There is a gun in Castle's safe, she thinks. He's brought it to the range before. She turns back to the study, but Castle's already coming out, clad in a crisp, midnight-blue button-down, Glock 22 in his hands. He holds it out by the muzzle towards her and Kate takes it gratefully, running her index finger along the bump of the trigger safety out of habit, and checks the clip - it is fully loaded - before shoving it in the back of the waistband of her jeans.

She is complete. There is a gun at her back and her partner at her front. This is as ready as she ever will be to do this.

"Where are your shoes?"

She looks down at her sock-clad feet. Oh.

"I have no idea. You're the one who took them off." The memory of that warms her and she has to shake it off. No time, they have to go. "What did you do with them?"

He thinks for a moment. "Oh, I think pushed them next to my dresser so we wouldn't trip on them," he answers as he walks away.

He's back with her ankle boots in a heartbeat, handing her one at a time. Kate puts a hand on his shoulder to brace herself, throwing an ankle over a knee to pull them up.

"Let me," he says low, his hands already brushing hers away. It somehow hurts her, the way his fingers gently tug the zipper up on her boot, helping her with it. She never wanted this for him. Pain and worry and danger. They shouldn't be preparing themselves. They should be in bed right now.

He zips them both up, and Kate is left standing eye to eye with this man she loves, the resolve and devotion she finds there too much to bear. She closes her eyes.

The soft brush of his lips on hers is a surprise. She leans into it, but he's a phantom pulling away, keeping them too far apart. He's stopping her from starting something desperate they could not finish. And that hurts too.

Soon they only remain standing there sharing a breath.

"Castle –"

"Let's go, Kate, so we can get back here." She pulls away to see him wearing a sly grin. "We've got some practicing to do."

"Yeah," she slides her fingers through his, palms touching, "let's finish this." Kate kisses the corner of his already fading smile, eyes somber, before turning away.

She walks out the door with his hand in hers, weaving them together. Before today she thought this would feel differently. Like this seismic shift in their relationship would move tectonic plates and open chasms. She was wrong. This is the difference. It's him woven into her life and solid at her back. It's something living and breathing to fight for; something that feels amazingly like peace.

* * *

_Complete_


End file.
